


we are transparent (so fill me in with all your colours)

by flying_dream



Category: Produce 101 (TV), VICTON (Band), X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Friends to Lovers, I promise there's a happy ending, Idols, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Seungwoo baby I'm so sorry you deserve the world, Slow Burn, Time Skips, more warnings in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:57:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_dream/pseuds/flying_dream
Summary: When Seungwoo is thirteen, he moves to Seoul. It's a hotbed of ambition and cutthroat competition, and anyone who can't carve out a place here doesn't survive.He will not be left behind.(In which Seungwoo dreams of becoming an idol, meets the expressive and energetic Cho Seungyoun, and grows up far too quickly.)
Relationships: Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Han Seungwoo
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	we are transparent (so fill me in with all your colours)

**Author's Note:**

> this is about as close to writing a non-au that i'm probably ever going to get. it sort of closely mirrors canon-verse, only it's... canon-adjacent? idk, there's a few noticeable divergences due to Plot, but i kept dates vaguely the same and used artistic license when mucking about with them. i also apologise for any victon-related mistakes since i still don't know them very well aside from what i've seen around twitter and in some yt videos.
> 
> warnings: extensive exploration and depiction of severe depression as well descriptions of suicidal thoughts. if you would like to still read but don't want to read the suicide attempt, it starts at the words "One afternoon, when Seungwoo drags himself to the bathroom" and ends at the end of that little section with SW blacking out. if this will trigger you in any way, please don't read. your health comes first!

The year he turns thirteen, Seungwoo moves to Seoul. It’s a hard toll on someone so fresh into teenagehood, especially since Seoul is all skyscrapers and smog-smudged skies, miles and miles of land stretching out as far as the naked eye can see – running up the mountain sides, straddling the Han River as it slithers through the city – whereas Busan rests on the edge of the East Sea. Busan air tastes of salt and freedom while Seoul makes him feel caged in, an ant among millions of others.

But Seoul is where his sister’s dreams lie, where the entertainment company she’s joined is based, and their parents are loath to have her move across the country by herself at just seventeen years old.

So Seoul is where Seungwoo finds himself, living in an apartment that’s sandwiched between several others and struggling to adjust to the fast cosmopolitan pace of the capital. Everything from his thick satoori to his unobtrusive mannerisms labels him as an outsider – _if you’re going to be here, you have to realise you’re competing against people much more ruthless than you,_ says someone who’s (sort of) his new friend – and sometimes, he wishes he could just take off and run. Run all the way down the Gyeonbu Expressway until he reaches Busan, can dig his toes into the sand at the beach next to his old house, can tip his head back and revel in the call of the seagulls. Sometimes, he half-considers it too.

In time, his yearning for Busan abates, subsiding into the occasional stray thought where he muses about his old life. He comes to adjust to the city, to the undercurrent of competition that beats like a pacemaker underneath the tarmac of its streets, and the way things keep moving, moving, moving. He joins a local football team and relishes in the way his teammates cheer his name. He builds connections with people. He makes friends.

One of them is a boy who lives in the apartment below theirs. A boy who goes by the name of Cho Seungyoun.

Cho Seungyoun is a little under two years younger than Seungwoo but rarely treats him like a hyung from the second he welcomes him to Seoul with open arms. He’s loud and riotous and completely unashamed in the way he pesters Seungwoo until the older will hang out with him. He talks at a hundred miles a minute, as if his mouth can hardly keep up with the speed with which his brain is working – and his brain seems to work in a dozen different directions because Seungyoun is often incredibly insightful one second and then a complete derp the next – and he wears his heart on his sleeve. He cries easily and he laughs even easier than that, viewing the world with such unbridled wonder.

Really, he’s the complete opposite to Seungwoo, though maybe that’s why they work so well together. They’re different enough that they mostly lead their own lives, but similar enough to enjoy the moments where it’s just the two of them. Whether they’re in Seungyoun’s room listening to music or outside kicking a football around.

“I’m going to be a professional footballer, you know,” Seungyoun declares proudly on one such occasion.

Seungwoo taps the battered ball with the side of his foot. “We’ll play together for Korea in the World Cup,” he says after a moment.

The younger smiles at him, teeth flashing in the light of the April sun. “We’re going to be the best footballers in the world.”

For all he said that they’re going to join the K League 1, Seungwoo is still surprised when Seungyoun leaves for Brazil two years later. The younger has been snatched up by a youth development system by Sport Club Corinthians Paulista, taken on as a striker for their junior team, and the entire apartment block is abuzz with excitement at the news. Seungyoun is the same, practically bouncing off the walls in his pride.

It feels like only Seungwoo is sad to see him go so he squashes that disappointment down until it’s nothing. This is not about him, after all. This is about Seungyoun and how everything the younger boy has been talking about in the years they’ve known each other has come true. It’s the start of his path to worldwide success. A good thing, something to celebrate.

Besides, Seungyoun is not the most important person in his life. Sure, they often walk home together after school, and on summer afternoons, it’s rare to see one without the other, the pair spending hours lazing together on the floor next to a fan that’s on full-blast. But they’re not best friends, just _good_ friends, and Seungwoo already knows what it’s like to cut ties and move on.

But when Seungyoun is about to get in the car that’ll take him to the airport and Seungwoo is crushing him to his chest, he doesn’t want to let him go.

 _Stay_ , he begs in his head. _You were my first friend here. Please stay._

“Make sure you call me when you settle in,” he says instead, speaking into Seungyoun’s scruffy hair. “As soon as you find a phone, I’m expecting a call. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, I’ll be mad at you if you don’t.”

Seungyoun pulls back and flashes his characteristic cheeky smile. “I’ll call you so much you’ll have to unplug the landline from the socket.”

“Good. I’m going to hold you to that.”

Mr Cho beeps the horn to tell them to wrap things up quickly and Seungyoun starts, glancing at the face of his Pikachu watch worriedly. He throws out a goodbye, darts in for another hug and then rushes to the car, diving into the backseat. He’s hardly closed the door when his father starts to drive off. Within twenty seconds, they’re gone, off towards Incheon Airport and from there, Penápolis.

It’s the last time they see each other for two years.

Towards the end of his first year in high school, Seungwoo decides he doesn’t want to be a footballer anymore. Somewhere between seeing his sister perform on M!Countdown, eyes glittery as she dances energetically around the stage, and having the Music teacher corner him into attending choir after hearing him sing in the hallway, he realises that being an idol is kind of cool actually. He already likes singing and dancing, so to be able to travel the world while performing his own songs to fans who adore and support him? The more he entertains the idea, the more attractive it sounds.

His parents are easy enough to convince once he fully commits to the career change. After all, they were willing to uproot them all hundreds of miles from Busan for Sunhwa’s career so what’s another aspiring idol in the family? It’s only Sunhwa who sits him down on one of her rare visits to the apartment and has a serious talk about what the lifestyle entails to ensure he’ll actually be up for it.

But it’s like once the idea took root in his mind, it weaved through his entire brain and being until he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do. Deep in his heart, he knows that being an idol is his calling. It sounds dramatic when he puts it like that – he never does, not with anyone outside of the voices in his head – but there’s a certainty in the set of his shoulders, a calm resolve in his gut that tells him that this is the right path. He’s made for this.

He knuckles down on honing his skills for company auditions, spending the hours he should devote to his textbooks in a dance academy pouring over practice videos of the most popular idol groups. Mimicking their choreographies, capturing it on video and then tearing his performance apart until he has each move down flawlessly. He sweettalks the Music teacher into giving him extra vocal lessons free of charge, promising to attend every choir meeting in exchange. Whenever he’s home, it’s not an uncommon occurrence to hear him singing around the rooms, voice high and sweet.

He has to be perfect.

He _will_ be perfect.

Company auditions are ruthless, and he attends countless where the judges dismiss him within thirty seconds of him standing in front of them. Too inexperienced, too ugly, too forgettable. Missing that special spark they’re looking for – whatever the fuck that spark is, however the fuck it’s even measured. It’s enough to make a grown man cry and Seungwoo’s a few years shy of that, so he spends many nights muffling his despair into his pillow.

The next day, he wakes up and starts it all over again.

He tells Seungyoun some of his worries over the phone when they get the chance to speak. Not in too much detail, of course, but Seungyoun is surprisingly perceptive for all his boyishness and picks up on the unspoken distress whenever he talks of a particularly hard move he can’t quite nail yet.

“You’ll get there, hyung,” he says reassuringly. “And then someday soon, I’ll download an episode of M!Countdown and you’ll be there on my screen. I’ll even learn all the fanchants and sing along with you.”

“You’re too kind,” Seungwoo teases, eyes drifting to the clock to keep an eye on the time. He’s due for a vocal session with his Music teacher soon. “I’m honoured.”

“I’ll be your biggest fan,” Seungyoun promises with a high giggle. “I’ll be your first fansite. Who cares about football? This is _my_ true calling in life.”

Seungwoo laughs, that creaking staccato of his that never fails to amuse the younger. A genuine smile spreads across his face.

“You’re a true friend,” he says and though they’re joking about, the sentiment is sincere. Even though they’re thousands and thousands of miles apart, their relationship hasn’t suffered from the neglect of distance. In fact, one could argue it’s only gotten stronger from their tenacity. “Speaking of football, how’s it going, Luizinho? Got the rest of the club talking about you yet? I bet you have a lot of admirers.”

“I’m the most popular one here,” Seungyoun jokes. A short pause ensues and then he adds much more quietly, “Football’s cool. It’s always been cool, doesn’t matter where I am. I do miss home though. Not enough people speak Korean here.”

“Living in Brazil might have something to do with that.”

His stomach churns uneasily despite his light tone. For a while now, he’s suspected that Brazil hasn’t been the glittering start of the path to success as Seungyoun expected it to be. Recently, his calls have grown in frequency and length, his outbox churning out emails on a daily basis, and he speaks often of Korea, of the food he misses and of the variety shows he spends all day downloading and all evening watching. Of waking up in the morning to walk to school with Seungwoo, their pockets full of change for the convenience store, and how they’d kick rocks and footballs later in the day, too lazy to change out of their uniforms. He rarely speaks of Penápolis, other than passing references to some of the friends he’s made there.

Half the time, he seems to live more in the past than in the here and now, longing for a life he no longer lives. It worries Seungwoo more than he lets on, but there’s not much he can do. The younger has a nasty habit of shooting down any suggestion that he’s not doing as well as he says he is (a habit the two of them share) and Seungwoo doesn’t want to scare him away. So he pretends not to realise the extent of Seungyoun’s homesickness and the other in turn pretends that Seungwoo’s worries about debuting haven’t been mounting by the day.

And so they remain two teenagers on opposite sides of the world, clinging onto each other through a telephone wire to keep their worries at bay.

When he’s seventeen years old, Seungwoo becomes a trainee under Plan A Entertainment. He likely won’t be debuting anytime soon – the company’s just rolled out a new girl group by the name of Apink and there’s only one other male trainee alongside him – but he’s _in_. He’s taken his first proper step towards achieving his dream and the weight on his shoulders is lighter already. Just knowing that someone in the industry sees the potential in him reinvigorates him in a way he didn’t realise he desperately needed.

That being said, training is _hard._

He tells Seungyoun as much during one of their phone calls (the other is at an international school in the Philippines now, having been sent there by his parents to learn English once he let go of his desire to be a professional footballer) and recaps his day while he waits for his instant ramen to cook. Though his complaints come out in a whine, Seungyoun tells him he sounds really happy.

And he supposes that’s the truth.

He _is_ happy. Exhausted, yes, and still adjusting to the new presence in his life that is Heo Chan, who is most likely his future groupmate – but happy regardless. Satisfied with the weariness that comes with training but not wanting to come off as pretentious when he speaks to Seungyoun.

Happy.

But as time goes on, that happiness fades, replaced by the familiar wear and tear of the monotony of training. His days are a perpetual loop of dance practice followed by vocal training followed by a session with the rap coach, the company wanting him to be a jack of all trades who’s been fine-tuned into being a master in all departments. They encourage his love for the gym, making no secret of approving of his muscles and trimmed torso. And then when that’s all done, they drill industry mannerisms and etiquette into him until he can repeat the instructors’ teachings back to them like a 6 foot tall, alabaster-skinned parrot.

It’s not like he resents the company for it because he doesn’t. Honestly, he doesn’t. He understands that they’re only doing all of this because they want the best for their trainees; want them to wow the crowd with their shiny, polished skills and wow the public with their perfect personalities.

He just wants the opportunity to actually stand in front of the crowd in the first place.

The company continues to collect more trainees – a teenager with dimples as deep as the moon’s craters and a face Michelangelo could only dream of carving, a mischievous rapper called Hanse, a boy whose vocals could blow them all out of the water – but their debut date is still an impending question. Distant and inconceivable, a pipe dream that Seungwoo is too stubborn to let go of just yet.

“We’ll get there soon,” says Chan one night when they’re all about to head to bed. “I’m telling you, they’ll announce it any day now.”

He likes to say this a lot, Chan does.

Something about speaking positive thoughts into reality, firm optimism giving strength to the power of good luck. Seungwoo never refutes him – he’d never do that to someone who’s so steadfast in his belief that success is right around the corner – but sometimes he wonders if it’ll ever actually happen. If he’ll wake up one day and the management will round them up to deliver the good news; that ‘congratulations!’, their debut has finally been confirmed. Or whether he’ll just be stuck in these trainee dorms until his bones are dust and the military calls his name.

He doesn’t like to linger on these thoughts, at least not outside of the cover of night. He allows them to form then when he’s huddled under his blankets and his thoughts are like the Han River during the monsoon, water churning violently and laying claim to whatever has the misfortune of touching its surface. Any stray worry, any whispering doubts are ravaged by his anxiety and the water of his racing thoughts, pulling him under.

Then morning dawns, the weak wintery sunlight filtering into their dorm room, and Seungwoo will roll out of bed. Will brush away that which haunts him in the witching hours, pull on a calming smile for the other trainees, ready to lend an ear to anyone who requires it, and will recall the lesson that someone once taught him.

_If you’re going to be here, you have to realise you’re competing against people much more ruthless than you._

Seungwoo will just have to beat them at their own game then. Be steadfast and determined, pushing on with a dogged persistence. Battle it out against the grim reality of trainee life until he stands onstage, chest heaving after dancing his heart out to his debut song. Refuse to break under the pressures of the industry. He is in Seoul, the hotbed of relentless competition, and he has been here for several years; it will not break him now.

(Back when he was thirteen and his sort of friend was offering up his advice, Seungwoo remembers looking back at the other boy with blank eyes. He remembers thinking in bewilderment:

_Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I have to be unkind._

Several years down the line and dozens of tears haven’t changed that. Oh, he’ll crawl his way up to the top, he’s sure of it – he’ll just drag the others up with him too.)

On October 16th 2014, Yuehua Entertainment debuts a five-membered Chinese-Korean idol group by the name of UNIQ. Their debut song follows the tried-and-true pop formula of a love song, aptly named _Falling In Love_ , and their main rapper is called Seungyoun.

To say Seungwoo is jealous is a gross understatement. Yes, he sends Seungyoun a cheery text of congratulations on the day their song is released, spamming him with emojis and exclamation marks as he expresses how proud he is of him. And really that’s not a lie at all – he _is_ proud of Seungyoun and he _does_ watch the music video and live performances as he promises he would, pointing out his friend to the other boys every time he lights up the screen. He even buys the song on Melon.

But he’s still jealous.

He watches Seungyoun dance onstage in his checkered suit and tie, smiling broadly under the spotlight, and the envy rises in him so sharp and ugly that he flinches. He sees Seungsik glance in his direction with a frown but ignores it in favour of watching the tv, bitterness heavy on the crest of his tongue.

He’s been training longer than Seungyoun, has wanted this for longer than the other has. Trained vigorously while the other was off kicking around footballs in Brazil and then learning English in the Philippines. But here Seungyoun is, training in freaking YG Entertainment and then debuting in their collaboration group with Yuehua while Seungwoo is still stuck in the trainee dorms in Plan A. Surely this isn’t fair? Surely, he deserves to be onstage too?

When the performance is over, he escapes to the kitchen under the guise of wanting a cup of tea. Hopefully, it’ll chase down the green that’s climbing up his throat, threatening to spill from him the longer he fixates on Seungyoun’s debut.

“It’s okay to be jealous, you know,” says Seungsik a couple of minutes later. When Seungwoo startles and whips around, he finds the other boy leaning against the cooker, watching him intently. He must’ve followed him in without Seungwoo even realising. “It’s completely understandable if you are.”

Seungwoo stiffens. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The other rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the opposite side of the kitchen to propel himself closer to Seungwoo. “I know you’re good at hiding things, hyung,” he says, “but you can’t fool me. You’re jealous of Seungyoun. Hell, I’m jealous of him too. I see him performing onstage and think of how much I’d rather it was me.”

Seungsik’s eyes unfocus, drifting as his thoughts take him to a place far from here. Seungwoo dares not breathe a syllable, too scared to confirm his envy with words, too desperate to have his feelings validated.

“All this time training,” murmurs Seungsik, a bitter smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “All this time hoping we’re going to debut soon – if not tomorrow, then next month or the month after. Hoping we’ll make enough noise when it eventually happens so that people will care. And all the while more and more groups are released into the industry to do the same thing. It’s bad enough when it’s someone you don’t know but when it is… it’s almost even worse. You hate them for it and then you hate yourself for being so hateful in the first place. Funny how it works, isn’t it?”

He trails off, gazing at one of the damp spots on their wall as if it’s not even there. As if he’s not. Then he shakes himself out of it and turns to Seungwoo, quirking an eyebrow as if daring him to refute what he just said.

After a long silence, Seungwoo whispers, “Do you think I’m a bad friend for feeling this way?”

“No. I think you’re human.”

Seungsik offers him a small smile, this time much less sardonic, and then tilts his head up to plant a chaste, secretive kiss on his lips. He probably shouldn’t have done it, at least not before making sure none of the kids are looking, but Seungwoo’s glad he did.

Though the two of them aren’t dating, there’s a comfort they seek in this arrangement of theirs, something private and soothing. Like for a few handful of moments, they can just hide from the rest of the world in each other’s arms and let themselves unravel away from the eyes that watch them. He needs that sort of comfort today.

“Come on Captain Seungwoo,” Seungsik says, voice much louder. He claps the older on the back and steps away, shattering their little bubble. “We have the entire day off. Let’s find a movie to watch that won’t terrify the living daylights out of our maknae.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Byungchan hollers from the living room.

The miniature hands on the face of Seungwoo’s watch inch closer to midnight, but he pays them no mind as he chugs down half a bottle of water before gearing up to repeat his dance routine once again. He’s been in the practice room for close to three hours now, trying to finetune his moves until they’re as sharp as the edge of a razor. But his body seems to be doing everything other than cooperating, moving through the air sluggishly as though it is fighting its way through mud, clumsy and ugly to the eye. His turns are messy and unbalanced, his back too stiff with tension and all of it is just _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

There’s one move in particular that he’s been trying to ace, where he glides across the floor on his back and then jumps back onto his feet before propelling himself into the next formation. Every time he tries it, he stumbles a few steps forwards when he’s upright again, staggering out of the tightly choreographed space that he is supposed to be confined to. This inevitably throws him off by a beat for the rest of the dance until the song winds down to an end, leaving him to stare at his reflection with scorn and disappointment.

_It’s just one move._

Just the one little move and for some reason, it eludes him even after hours of relentless practice. By this point, he doesn’t even care about the rest of the choreography; if he can just nail this one move, he’ll call it quits for the day and go back to the dorms. Tomorrow, he’ll be able to neaten out the rest of the routine, but tonight – tonight he _needs_ this. He can’t go home without perfecting it.

Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes as if to physically keep the exhaustion at bay, Seungwoo summons up all of his diminishing strength and prepares to go again. Music fills the dance studio, each note swelling through the room and demanding his body to respond. His arms snap into position like the limbs of a puppet, slashing through the air at the whims of the electronic beat pulsing underneath the soles of his shoes. His feet follow suit, taking him forwards and backwards across the smooth floor, his reflection mimicking his every twitch, pop and sway.

As the chorus looms closer and the guitar strings pick up their speed alongside the drums, Seungwoo drops to his knees and twists his body backwards in the direction of the floor, pushing himself along with the momentum. His body drags across the ground and his back arches like a bridge. He sucks in a breath and then pushes upwards, his legs punching through the air as he jumps up, feet coming down to the ground in a measured bounce –

Pain explodes through his body.

Crying out, Seungwoo crumples to the floor, the music all but forgotten. He reaches for his knees, but that only seems to make it worse, so he pulls away with another cry, collapsing onto his back. The bright lights above are blurry through the involuntary tears that spring to his eyes, yellow spots dancing in his vision. Seungwoo screws his eyes shut against them, forcing a sharp breath in through his nose and then pushing it out of his mouth.

He doesn’t think about his legs – not the searing pain that’s shooting up from his knees, not the way they seize up with the rise and fall of his chest. Nor does he think about how he can’t bring himself to move. He just focuses on taking one breath in and exhaling one breath out in return.

When he deems it safe to move, Seungwoo gingerly sits up, legs splayed out in front of him. He brings his hand to his right knee, index finger hovering over it uncertainly before he steels himself and pokes it the once. More pain shoots through his body, but it’s nothing crippling this time. So, gritting his teeth in grim determination, Seungwoo picks himself up and clambers to his feet.

He takes a tentative step forward.

And then another one – and another one and another.

In the background, the music comes to a finish.

He doesn’t tell anyone about what happened to his knees that day, nor does he tell anyone about the twinges of pain that follow in the months after. Not his parents or his fellow trainees or any of the trainers at Plan A.

He doesn’t even tell Seungyoun, too wary of encroaching on his friend’s busy life with Seungwoo’s dumb problems. The younger is well on his way to becoming a star any day now, especially with UNIQ’s latest release _EOEO_ which has seen them explode in popularity in China and has even gotten the attention of some fans in the west. With all that on his plate, Seungyoun doesn’t need to have worries about Seungwoo hounding him too, especially since Seungwoo’s meant to be the hyung in their friendship.

So no, he doesn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t see any need to.

What he does do is silently adjust his workouts in the gym so that they won’t strain his legs as much and chooses to focus on his torso instead. He stifles the winces that seek to escape whenever he stands on his legs the wrong way, reigniting the sparks of pain in his knees. He takes greater care in analysing choreographies for ways to make them safer while producing the same effect. He pops a couple of painkillers whenever he’s practiced for a long time.

To put it succinctly, he _manages_ the issue.

Because there’s no use in bringing up the fault at this time, not when he’s going to debut any day now. There’s no reason to give the staff any suggestion that he might not be up for the role after all, especially since he’s worked so long and remained so patient for it. And there’s no need to worry the other trainees who come to him for emotional support and guidance, to have them think that Seungwoo isn’t able to handle all of it.

Granted, he’s not completely perfect at hiding it. Though he bites back his pained hisses, flashes smiles at the Plan A boys even when his legs are flaring up again, there are times when he slips up, garnering a concerned look or two from the other trainees. Seungsik in particular corners him a couple of times to ask if he’s holding up okay, mentioning the painkillers he’s seen Seungwoo knock back. He brushes the concerns off with a light laugh and a quick peck on the mouth.

But he’s good enough.

Good enough that the others are none the wiser of what happened that night in the practice room. Good enough that he’s still getting praises thrown at him by the trainers at how flawlessly he’s pulling off the choreographies he’s assigned to memorise. Good enough that even his family don’t know otherwise.

Good enough to start being a little careless.

It’s not that serious when he first starts.

One night, he’s lying in bed, quietly comforting Seungyoun over the phone as the other confides his worries about Yuehua’s lack of concrete plans for UNIQ since their last promotion cycle, absent-mindedly rubbing his knees where it most hurts. When he returned from the company that evening, he planned to take a couple of pills to assuage the pain since it’s particularly bothersome today. But then Seungyoun called and he’s far too comfortable in bed to get up now. Far too concerned with reassuring the other about his fears too.

Which means that somewhere between carefully articulating his advice for Seungyoun and adjusting himself into a more relaxed position, he ends up falling asleep.

When he wakes up, the pain is a dull memory. He feels well-rested, like the heavy sleep is all he really needed. So aside from a few apologetic texts to Seungyoun where he despairs about falling asleep on him, Seungwoo doesn’t really feel the need to take any other emergency measures… Which means he does it again.

And again.

And again.

Only on days when he’s particularly exhausted. When training has taken its toll on his mind more so than his body and all he wants to do when he gets back to the dorms is drop dead onto his bed. He’ll muster up the effort for a hot shower, maybe even a hot bath if he can wrangle it, and then just crawl into bed and slip away into the gentle arms of Morpheus, dreaming of sunlit days and ice cream melting on his tongue. No painkillers, just the sweet drug that is a good night’s sleep

It’s all going well and good until one late spring afternoon during a group dance practice when Seungwoo’s legs buckle on a turn. It’s almost a mirror image of that night many months ago: the way the agony fires up his legs, felling him in a swift blow. How he staggers onto his back, black spots and bright lights swimming in front of his eyes until he screws them shut, desperate to keep unwarranted tears at bay. They seep through the cracks anyway, trickling past the exhausted purple bruises under his eyes into the sweat in his hair.

 _Almost_ a mirror image of that night because this time, he doesn’t have the liberty of waiting for the pain to subside – the other boys are on him within seconds, crying out in alarm while the trainer rushes to cut the music short.

“Hyung, hyung,” Seungsik says frantically, reaching for his arm. “God, hyung, are you okay? What happened, where does it hurt?”

Beyond Seungsik, he can hear Hanse shouting that they need to pull back to give him space while Byungchan’s boyish tone climbs higher in his panic the longer Seungwoo doesn’t respond. Seungwoo swallows as if the force of the bob of his Adam’s apple can drive his mind into recovery. Give him the boost of energy needed to compartmentalise his internal screams of pain, his worries about how he must seem splayed across the floor like a broken doll, his pressing need to reassure the others that everything is okay.

He opens his eyes and attempts a closed-lipped smile. Hoping he doesn’t look as pathetic as he feels, flat on his back and lashes streaked with tears, he meets Seungsik’s concern.

“I think,” he says softly, “I landed on my feet wrong.”

Seungsik’s face contorts.

“Bullshit,” he spits, and their trainer snaps a reprimand his way. He ignores it, though he acquiesces when she pushes him to the side in order to get to Seungwoo. Keeping his eyes trained on the elder as he’s pulled upright, he continues, “You know that wasn’t just about a wrong landing. Don’t try to sell us something like we’re stupid, hyung.”

“I landed on my feet wrong,” Seungwoo repeats. “I’m fine.”

His gaze slides past Seungsik and to the other boys crouched around him. They look just as unconvinced, staring at him like he’s on the brink of death which, as touching as one might see it, is also annoying since it’s doing nothing to deescalate the situation. Sejun’s hand seeks purchase on his left thigh as though to reassure himself that Seungwoo’s here while Byungchan looks down at him, bottom lip quivering in fear. Their new maknae Subin looks much the same, hiding behind Chan’s back as he peers out at Seungwoo like he’s terrified being out in the open will pronounce Seungwoo dead. Even Hanse looks scared.

The trainer, too, is concerned as she pulls Seungwoo’s head towards her, scanning his eyes in search of something wrong.

“Well, I can’t see any obvious signs of a concussion, but we should probably go to the hospital to make sure,” she says. “You hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I’m fine,” Seungwoo protests. “I’m not even in pain.”

The boys exchange dubious looks. After a moment, Sejun moves his hand from Seungwoo’s thigh and squeezes his knee. One quick but firm pump. Before Seungwoo can help it, he hisses in response to the sharp flare that shoots up to his core.

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Sejun says.

“I’m _fine._ ”

“Stop lying, hyung – “

“Stop ignoring what I’m saying!”

“Hyung, you always say you’re okay,” Seungsik says impatiently, “even when you’re clearly not. It might work every other time, but right now you need medical attention so for the love of God, would you let us help you?”

In the end, he has no choice. The trainer hauls him to his feet and the second he takes a step towards the door, his knees nearly buckle again. Only Chan’s quick reflexes stop him from planting face-first onto the ground and it’s that which effectively ends the argument, disproving all of his claims of being okay. From there, it’s almost too easy for the trainer to dismiss the others for the rest of the day, allowing only Seungsik to accompany them to the hospital for the verdict.

The verdict being? Knee effusion.

Water in the knees.

An excessive amount of fluid that makes it difficult for him to put any weight or strain on his legs, that requires lots of rest and time out to reduce the swelling as well as pain medications to assuage the hurt. A condition that, for all intents and purposes, isn’t debilitating or life-threatening, but is altogether incompatible for the fast-paced, stressful lifestyle that an idol’s schedule demands. An injury that needs the sort of care and attention a company can’t afford to give to the would-be leader of their first ever boy group.

The day Seungwoo’s trainee contract is terminated is one of the worst in his life. He’s always pictured this as a triumphant moment, something appropriately satisfying to befit the years he’s spent grinding in the practice rooms at Plan A Entertainment, running himself to the ground to prove that he’s worthy of standing onstage. Dreaming of the day he finally gets to present himself to the world as Han Seungwoo, rookie idol.

He never pictured the story to end with the termination.

 _It’s a shame really,_ one of the managers says in what he supposes is meant to be a comforting tone. _Had it not been for the injury, you were a shoo-in for a position in the group. Probably as the leader and all. So don’t think of this decision as a reflection of your potential or your skills; we just can’t afford to push back the debut any longer. That’s all._

That’s all.

That’s all.

Seungwoo wants to let out a hysterical laugh at that, though he chokes it down along with his despair as he collects his meagre belongings from the dorm.

Such reason! What a sensible decision to make! Deciding on a now concrete, immovable debut date that’s all of a sudden within spitting distance and cutting Seungwoo loose because they don’t believe he’ll be prepared for it in time.

As if he hasn’t been hungering for this chance and was ready to debut years ago. As if he’s been the one dismissing questions about when they’re going to work on a debut album, when they’ll start training for their own material proper, when they’re going to do anything other than cycle through the same repetitive schedule for months on end. As if he hasn’t been glaringly conscious of his age slipping away from him like the sand he used to play with as a child in Busan: there one second and gone the next.

“You’re nearly twenty two years old,” they said to him back at the office, the lines on their faces very grave as they ruthlessly destroyed his dreams in a matter of minutes. “Subin is seventeen. We need to appeal to the teenage demographic and a younger average age will do that. Teenagers don’t want to see a twenty two or twenty three year old. They want to see someone young that they can relate to. It’s just a case of marketing and bad timing unfortunately.”

 _Fuck you,_ he thinks viciously. _I was the seventeen year old when I joined this company. Fuck you and fuck all of this bullshit._

It’s one of the worst days in his life and he’s seething.

But he doesn’t cry.

Not when the manager lets him stay in the dorm long enough to say goodbye to the other boys. Not when they come home to find him sitting in their cramped living room, bags at his feet, his favourite coat on his shoulders. Not when Byungchan bursts into tears and begs him to stay, says he can’t do any of this without him, or when Chan yells that there must be something they can do, someone they can appeal to. They agreed to debut together way back when, he can’t just leave now. Not when Seungsik steps into his arms, hot tears splashing onto the divot of his collarbones as he whispers that he’s sorry _, so sorry hyung, I never meant for this to happen._

He doesn’t cry when he turns up to his parents’ apartment with all the things he owns, their crestfallen faces and disappointment biting into him like the coldest of winter winds. He just goes to his old bedroom and crawls into bed, still dressed in his stiff jeans and a jumper that’s wet with his friends’ tears. He pulls the blanket over his head and shuts his eyes to the light that filters through.

He doesn’t cry when Sunhwa crawls into bed behind him several hours later and just hugs him until she falls asleep. And he doesn’t cry when his phone lights up with a call from Seungyoun once, twice, thrice, several times in a row until it finally stops ringing.

He doesn’t cry at all.

Plan A Entertainment launches their first male idol group, VICTON, on November 9th 2016 with the bright, poppy track _I’m fine_. The music video is fun and playful with colourful pastel sets and lots of light-hearted shots of the six members. The choreography is cute. When they introduce themselves, their leader and main vocalist Kang Seungsik initiates the greeting.

After their debut showcase, Seungwoo texts the members his congratulations.

It’s been two years since the first time this sort of thing happened and he’s no less jealous.

The thing about training so hard to debut since the age of seventeen is that once the company has shrugged Seungwoo off its premises, it’s difficult to know where to go next. For years, training has been the bread and butter of his life, as steady and consistent as the mere act of breathing or waking up in the morning. He’s been Trainee Han Seungwoo for so long that to axe that title off him leaves him lost and aimless, wandering around with no purpose. All he’s aware of is the phantom limb of his former status.

After the first month of recovery, he begins a rudimentary job search, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he can’t just leech off his parents’ hospitality for the rest of his life. But all that it proves to him is that when his entertainment skills are taken out of the equation, Seungwoo is at a painful disadvantage in this world. He’s twenty two years old and has never stepped foot on a university campus, never had any sort of full-time job that could give him an edge in the job market. Employers take one look at his resume and dismiss him as an unworthy investment.

He supposes that’s all he’s ever going to be: an unworthy investment. Undeserving of the time, dedication and money that must be poured into him just to get him up to scratch, to bring him into the ranks proudly. Just another pretty face gone to waste.

After a while, Seungwoo stops applying to jobs.

Stops doing much of anything really. His days begin when the noon sun creeps into his bedroom, pulling him out of a deep sleep, and they pass in much the same fashion with Seungwoo spending long hours in bed, idly drifting in and out of thought as he stares up at his ceiling. At some point, he’ll brave the rest of the apartment for some food when his stomach is particularly demanding. And sometimes he’ll follow that up with a trip to the bathroom, hugging his knees as he sits on the cold ceramic flooring of the shower while the water drowns out his thoughts.

He isn’t sure how many days pass like this. The monotony is punctuated only by Seungyoun’s visits, the younger a force of cheer whenever he pops around. Smile mischievous, arms snaking around Seungwoo’s waist when he crashes into bed beside him, every conversation starter a loud shout. He speaks almost exclusively in bright pink, bubble print exclamation marks – although when they’re not speaking, when they’re just brewing in silence and listening to Seungyoun’s Spotify playlists with an earphone each, his voice hushes and pulls in on itself to match the slow, easy drawl of the music.

He measures his time in Seungyoun.

Calls from Seungyoun begging him to come out for soju and fried chicken with his producer friends. Texts from him in the dead of night when the younger must be taking a break in his studio, his back a comma as he hunches over his MIDI keyboard, his fingers creating magic. Impromptu visits when Seungwoo has rejected his invitations to eat out one too many times.

 _It’s been three showers since he sent me the link to that sad English song_ , Seungwoo thinks. Or, it’s been ten naps since Seungyoun left on his trip to China to visit his bandmate Yibo. Or, it’s been five sunsets since the song he produced hit the charts. Or, it’s been a while since he last laughed because Seungyoun hasn’t dropped by.

He measures his time in Seungyoun, but he also feels so very alone even when he’s there. No matter how bright the younger burns, it’s as if Seungwoo can never reach him. As if the lanky twenty year old sprawled beside him is a million light years away; a will-o’-the-wisp, dancing tantalisingly in the distance, never to be captured. He shines with the warmth and force of several hundred stars but somehow Seungwoo has never felt colder. Like a hollow approximation of Han Seungwoo has been carved into time and space to replace him and he can’t even summon the energy to care.

Even when he was growing up, Seungwoo has always been comfortable being alone. He enjoyed the company of his friends, glowed with secret pride when his parents fawned over him, and thrived off the cheers of the other children whenever he did anything that came off as mildly impressive – but he didn’t mind being alone all the same. He was just as content as a solitary figure: eating, reading, kicking about a football, singing along to the songs on the radio, walking down the length of the beach on days where no one else in the world seemed to be around. He liked it, even.

He’s always been comfortable being alone which is why he doesn’t notice that he’s retreated so far into himself that the only person he sees aside from his parents is the one person who makes it a point to seek him out.

Things have a funny habit of creeping up on someone when they’re not paying attention.

In the months following Plan A kicking Seungwoo to the curb, he doesn’t notice the way he loses contact with nearly everyone he knows one by one. He doesn’t notice how it becomes almost a Herculean task for him to change into a fresh set of clothing every day or how entire weeks trudge by before he tastes fresh air again. He doesn’t notice when the concerned looks his parents send him fade into anxiety and then resignation when he fails to leave his bedroom for the fifth day in a row.

He doesn’t notice how his thoughts morph from bitter anger into devastation until he’s muffling his tears into his pillowcase at four in the morning, feeling like fragments of the world are crashing down upon him as a performance by VICTON draws to an end on his phone. He doesn’t notice when the tears subside into an encompassing numbness, where someone could plunge their hand into Seungwoo’s chest and feel their fingers freeze in the icy gaping hole where his passion once thrived.

He doesn’t notice when the numbness transforms into idle muses where he wonders what the point of this is anymore, why he’s even trying. He’s practically disappeared from the rest of the world already. Surely no one would miss him if that became reality?

He doesn’t notice _any_ of these changes that come over him. And he most certainly doesn’t notice when the idle muses become tangible possibilities in his mind – not just macabrely fascinating scenarios but legitimate options. Escape routes that glimmer in the dusty recesses of his mind, a dirty glint of gold that calls out to him.

He doesn’t notice it, but it happens anyway.

One afternoon, when Seungwoo drags himself to the bathroom and meets his gaunt reflection with empty, empty eyes, he realises that there’s really nothing stopping him from taking the plunge. For so long, he’s been a little less than a fragile shell of himself, barely able to muster up the rare smile. And he’s so very tired. He can’t remember the last time he wasn’t. It’s the sort of exhaustion that has entered his bones, egging him on towards a collapse.

The movements are thoughtless and mechanical.

He watches the razor slice through his skin with an odd detachment that belies the instinctive hiss that escapes through his teeth and the tears that spring to his eyes. It’s almost surprising how much it actually hurts. He’s forgotten that emotion can be as sharp as this. Vicious and ruthless, with a bite. He hasn’t felt anything in so long.

But that’s okay. It’s all going to go away now. He’s going to go away too.

Noise suddenly shatters the reverie he’s slipped into, exploding through the small bathroom like a cannon to the white tiling. Seungwoo starts, jerking around for its source until his eyes land on the face of his phone, the screen lit up with a blurry, late-night selfie he took with Seungyoun when they got drunk for the first time. Seungwoo stares at it through the veil of his tears, remembering the way the two of them ran through the streets of their neighbourhood screeching and laughing, the kings of this little corner of Seoul for the night. Bright and buoyant with youth, they made a sappy, tipsy promise to stick together forever and sealed it with a bump of their fists.

The screen blackens as Seungyoun hangs up and the sight of it punches through the haze in Seungwoo’s mind.

His eyes spring to the blood running down his wrists, staining his clothes and dripping onto the floor, and a fresh wave of pain hits him. He gasps, staring at his shaking hands in horror. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to go, he can’t, he promised, he –

“Eomma,” Seungwoo cries out. Or maybe he shouts it or throws it out in a desperate shriek between his rapid, shallow breaths because he hears his mother call out his name in a panicked reply followed by her heavy, frantic footsteps as they bridge the span of the apartment. “Eomma, please, I – I – “

The bathroom door slams open.

He turns to face his mother and she screams.

“Eomma, I think I’ve made a mistake,” he whimpers, and then blacks out.

Depression.

That’s what the doctors call it. Suicidal tendencies and ideation, a drastic change in personality and motivation, a near-complete withdrawal from society; Seungwoo has been officially diagnosed with severe depression. The hospital keeps him on suicide watch for a while until they release him back into the unsterilised wilderness of Seoul with a prescription for anti-depressants, a list of potential therapists to reach out to, and detailed instructions for his family to abide by when supervising him.

His parents won’t stop crying.

Seungwoo just stares at the traffic and feels numb again.

August in Seoul is sticky and humid so Seungyoun turns up to his apartment in rumpled shorts and a sweat-stained t-shirt, his hair greasy like he hasn’t showered in several days. He enters Seungwoo’s bedroom in the quietest manner he’s ever witnessed in the near decade they’ve known each other and stares at him as if he’s a ghost. When Seungwoo shifts, the sleeves of his shirt pull up slightly to reveal the off-white of his bandages; Seungyoun’s eyes latch onto them in a flash, like a pair of fish on a sharp hook.

“They’re not that bad,” Seungwoo says finally, gazing down at his wrists. A faint sardonic smile shadows the corners of his mouth. “I cut the wrong way, you see. Horizontal, not vertical.”

Seungyoun lets out a sharp sob.

His head snaps up to look at his best friend, at how he’s biting his lower lip raw just to hold back his tears. The careful way he sits at the foot of the bed, as if he’s afraid that if he gets too close to Seungwoo, he’ll shatter him into millions of pieces.

So Seungwoo says softly, “I’m okay.” And when Seungyoun looks unconvinced, he repeats it. “I’m okay. I promise I’m going to try to get better. And I’m not going to do this again, okay? Hyung isn’t going to leave you. I’m still here.”

Still deathly silent, Seungyoun manages a small nod in reply. He looks so small and lost, like the rug has been pulled from under his feet and sent him spiralling several miles under the ground. The fact that it’s Seungwoo who’s done this to him, who’s put him there, draws out a stinging spike of self-disgust. It’s so sudden and potent that he almost physically reels back from it, from the knowledge that he’s the one who’s dampened the brilliant and enigmatic star that is Cho Seungyoun.

He blinks the hatred away and attempts a smile to lighten the mood. “Hey, why are you so sad, cry baby?” he teases. “Why are you so upset?”

It’s a stupid question. They both know why he’s so upset. Why his bottom lip is breaking, skin splitting open and red spots of blood staining the edges of his teeth. Why his tears have surrendered to the force of gravity and now fall from the rim of his eyes like an open tap on full-blast.

He’s hurting for the seventeen year old boy who plunged headfirst into the trainee programme so happily, yearning for a life on the stage. He’s crying for the teenager he remembers goading him into a push-up contest just so he could flex his own strength. He’s mourning the death of the kid who dragged his feet up from Busan, still longing for sand between his toes and salt on his lips. He’s remembering the person who used to inhabit Han Seungwoo’s body before the creature that commands it now.

Seungyoun swipes his hands across his cheeks, choking out, “I’m sorry. This isn’t – this isn’t about me. I just – I just…”

Seungwoo watches him struggle to get his breathing under control. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Seungyounnie. I’m really sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. How to explain how the hollowness in him threatened to engulf him until he did something drastic. How he knows that what happened was awful and he’s sorry for all the pain he’s caused, but how it was also the first time he actually felt something in a while, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. How he saw Seungyoun’s lopsided smile on his phone and realised he needed to clutch onto life for a little longer.

So instead, he opens his arms and offers up a hug. Seungyoun launches forward to slot into his hold like a baby koala, tears wet against Seungwoo’s neck and his grip almost tight enough to bruise. As if he never plans on letting go.

And he doesn’t. Not for the rest of that night. They lie down on Seungwoo’s bed in silence, the younger draped on top of him and clinging on, quiet as a mouse as he presses his ear to Seungwoo’s chest and counts each of his heartbeats. He’s an oddly comfortable weight so Seungwoo keeps his arms wrapped around him like a lock and fixes him in place.

When he falls asleep, his breaths are in tandem with Seungyoun’s. And when he wakes up the next morning, it’s to Seungyoun’s soft snores in his ear and his long hair in his mouth, his fingers twitching in his sleep as if to make sure that Seungwoo is still there. And though Seungwoo can’t quite say that he’s happy, in that moment things honestly do feel a little bit better.

Going to therapy is like pulling out all of his healthy teeth one by one. His gums are leaking blood and his mouth tastes of copper and bits of Seungwoo are scattered across the desk for everyone to see, wrestled out of him against his will through brute force.

By nature, he’s a pretty private person. So to have to travel to this bleak-looking building in the middle of Seoul and sit in front of this therapist, her carefully neutral face hovering in front of him like a smaller, Korean rendition of the Face of Boe, and to have her psychoanalyse him? It’s painful. For all he promised Seungyoun and his family that he’s going to do his best to get better, his immediate reaction to his therapist’s probing is to throw up an impenetrable firewall.

He doesn’t _want_ to be reduced to a paper-thin profile of diagnoses and observations. And he doesn’t want to think about how things make him feel because sometimes, he doesn’t feel anything at all, just feels distant and removed from everything else in the world. Sometimes, he feels like he’s at the bottom of a pit with no way to claw himself back up, a thin figure curled up in the cold while the world moves on around him. Other times, all he seems to do is cry.

He doesn’t want to talk about his dreams of being an idol either, no matter how much she tries to press him about it. Doesn’t want to discuss how they fell apart around him until he followed suit, or how he doesn’t know what he’s going to be now. He doesn’t want to think about it at all.

“What do you think of VICTON’s latest comeback, Seungwoo?” she asks him one day. “ _Unbelievable_ , is it?”

Seungwoo shrugs and looks back at her dully. “It was fine. I’m very proud of them. They’re very talented.”

“Just proud?”

“Yes.”

His therapist smiles. (He never calls her by her name, as if giving her that courtesy will breathe life into her, will make her something so much more tangible than the clinical, detached personification of Korea’s mental health services.) There’s something secretive and knowing in the stretch of her mouth that has Seungwoo bristling, but she leaves the topic behind.

The conversation somehow drifts over to a recount of Seungyoun’s latest visit, of how he came wearing these obnoxious sunglasses that glowed in the dark and proceeded to dance enthusiastically to all of TWICE’s title tracks with the curtains drawn.

Even Seungwoo is aware of how fond he sounds when talking about him, so he’s really not surprised when his therapist says, “He sounds like a fun guy. Why not go out and do something with him? I think you might find it worthwhile.”

Seungwoo shrugs and avoids her eyes. “I don’t really go out much.”

“It doesn’t have to be much,” she insists. “It could be as little as a walk to the end of your street. As long as you do something with him. In fact, I’d like it if you’d have done something along those lines by the time we see each other next week. I look forward to hearing all about it.”

He can’t help the scowl that immediately pinches his mouth. Another thing he doesn’t particularly care for with his weekly therapy sessions is the goals his therapist likes to set him. Or ‘homework’ as he mockingly likes to call them in his head. Each week, she assigns something new she’ll like Seungwoo to do or think about over the next week so that they have something to discuss in their next appointment. More often than not, they’re about as appealing as a pile of dry, sunburnt noodles.

But Seungwoo has promised everyone who cares about him that he’s genuinely going to try to get better which is why he reels in his irritation, pastes on a smile that’s as plastic as the packaging on the magazine peeking out from under his file, and forces out:

“Of course. I’d love to do that.”

Truthfully, the thought of going out in public with Seungyoun causes his stomach to churn violently. There’s a possibility that someone who recognises him from UNIQ might see them – no matter how much Seungyoun laughs deprecatingly about how he’s about as nugu as it gets in Korea unlike in the next country over – which means that the two of them might draw attention while they’re out and about. And oh God, if someone whips their camera out to commemorate the sighting in film, it’ll be even worse.

In the end, his grand outing with Seungyoun turns out to be a trip to the local supermarket. It’s significantly less stressful than he pictured. All he’s done is pull on a clean pair of joggers from his dresser. His hair is unbrushed under the cover of his hoodie, his sliders do not hide his mismatched socks, and he’s barely awake because Seungyoun has decided to do his grocery shopping at eleven thirty in the night. But there’s something about being in an open, brightly lit shop when barely anyone else is around and being here with _Seungyoun_ that turns the experience into something unforgettable.

Suddenly, everything becomes so much more entertaining. It’s not even funny the way they take turns to hurtle down the aisles, legs tucked under them so they don’t touch the ground as they propel forward with the trolley, but they can’t stop clowning each other while they do it. Seungyoun finds an unusually large eggplant in the fresh produce section and they just about fall over themselves laughing about it, proudly displaying it in a selfie on his Snapchat story. In the meantime, Seungwoo makes a little game of trying to sneak random items into the trolley and seeing how long it takes for the other to notice.

(Side-note: Seungyoun ends up paying for a bag of baby carrots, canned cat food and a packet of pantyliners.)

By the time he crashes back into bed, Seungwoo’s feeling happier than he has in months. He opens his chat with Seungyoun to find a picture of the younger curled up with the eggplant in bed and ends up laughing so hard, he wakes his parents up. When his dad pops in to see what’s going on, he manages to choke out an apology between the wide smile that stretches his mouth, his eyes falling back to his phone a moment later. He misses the way his father lingers by the door, tearing up at the sight of his son’s smile before he murmurs a _goodnight_ and slips away.

No, Seungwoo isn’t better yet – far from it to be frank – but he truly believes he’s getting there.

On Boxing Day, Seungwoo calls Seungsik. The phone rings for three beats before the call connects and he hears the tell-tale rustling of Seungsik picking his phone up from the bed. In the background, he hears Hanse’s high-pitched laughter and Sejun shout, _“Yah, give back my Pringles, you absolute heathen!”_ before Seungsik’s voice punches through at a much louder volume, a smile in his greeting.

“Hello?”

At the sound of Seungsik’s warm tone, all resolve Seungwoo has flies out of the window. What is he doing? Why did he think this is a good idea? Seungsik and the other boys have already moved on with their lives, probably haven’t thought about him in the year and a half since they last saw each other. To them, he’s just a figure from their past, a ghost of times long gone, and his call is doing nothing but unnecessarily dredging up memories from training.

“Uh,” Seungwoo starts.

There’s a pause. And then, with evident surprise, Seungsik blurts, “Seungwoo hyung? Is that you?”

“Uh,” he repeats, blinking rapidly at the far corner of his bedroom. He grips his phone so hard he nearly cracks the screen. “Yes. I asked Seungyoun to get me your new number from one of your friends, I’m sorry if that’s weird. I just… kind of wanted to catch up, I guess.”

Another pause.

And then suddenly the other end of the phone explodes with noise. Seungwoo manages to make out a screech of “ _SEUNGWOO HYUUUUUNG!!”_ that sounds like it belongs to Byungchan, but the rest of it is just a mish-mash of screams and yells and the sound of the phone being thrown about. That is, until Seungsik’s voice sharply cries out over the chaos for the other boys to shut up and let him speak first. His voice drips with an authority that’s new to Seungwoo but seems well-worn – the result of Seungsik settling into his role as leader over the past year.

His voice returns, once again much louder and closer to the phone. “I don’t mind you getting my number, hyung,” Seungsik says and he sounds entirely sincere. “I would’ve called you sooner, but I lost all of my contacts when I transferred over to my new phone.”

“That’s okay,” Seungwoo says quietly. “I should’ve reached out sooner. I was just… going through some things.”

_Still am._

“Ah. Do you – do you feel up to talking about it? Don’t worry, you’re not on loudspeaker so the rest of the boys can’t hear.”

“Hey!” Chan protests. “I want to know what’s going on!”

“Not until you’re twenty five.”

“We’re the same age!”

Seungwoo can’t help but let out a small, creaking laugh at Chan’s pure indignation.

He carefully lies down on his bed to face the newly added constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling as he says gently, “Tell Chan to settle down, I’m not planning on talking about anything important. I just wanted to see how you guys are doing. I know I went M.I.A for a bit, but I’ve been keeping up with VICTON recently and thought I should check in on you guys.”

Seungsik hums in that way that tells him he doesn’t necessarily approve of Seungwoo’s answer but respects him enough to accept his decision.

“Well,” he says after a moment, “we’re doing okay. Could be doing a lot better. Our album sales aren’t too great and our fanbase isn’t too big – but they’re passionate and we’ve had a few opportunities this year regardless. We’re hanging in there.”

“Have you listened to our album, hyung?” Byungchan calls from the distance.

“Have you seen our variety show?” Subin asks.

“What about our – “

“He’s still not on loudspeaker, how do you expect to hear any reply from him?” Seungsik sighs, exasperated. A beep on the other end of the line sounds and then Seungsik grimaces, “There. Sorry Seungwoo hyung, you’re about to be bombarded. We can all hear you now.”

To prove Seungsik’s point, Sejun cries out a loud, “Seungwoo hyung!” and the other boys burst into cheers.

Over in a different neighbourhood in Seoul, eyes still trained on the muted neon green of the stickers above him, Seungwoo breaks out into a soft smile. The nerves he felt earlier, the self-doubt that swooped down upon him at the first note of Seungsik’s greeting, has fled his body, leeched into the darkness around him. It seems almost laughable now that he had to work himself up to call the boys, that he was so afraid that they would angrily tell him to leave them alone as he did months earlier. Or worse, not even care that it was him. In the end, he has nothing of the sort to fear.

The seven of them chat long into the night. Laughing at the jokes Hanse cracks and then quietening into a more solemn mood when speaking of their respective struggles before they lighten up again at the clock ticks closer to dawn.

Seungwoo is honest about how abandoned he felt after he was kicked out from Plan A and how purposeless it left him now that he’s past the prime time to debut. In return, the boys share their fears about never making it, of how daunting it is to struggle to make an imprint on the industry, of how their demons whisper that it’s not worth the stress and tears. They come to the collective agreement that things would probably be better for all of them if Seungwoo debuted with them. And perhaps he did so in another world, but in the world they live in now, they can only promise to keep in touch and hold onto their friendship with firm hands. Regardless of where life may take them. Of whether they’ll get their big break, of whether Seungwoo will return to the stage like he still yearns to do.

In the meantime, the boys of VICTON will continue to make the most of what they have and Seungwoo will try to stitch himself back together.

“Hello Mr. Employee,” says a voice high with mischief. A packet of chewing gum, a cup of instant ramen and a bottle of lemonade is placed onto the counter by a small hand, nails bitten to the quick. “Can I get my purchases scanned please?”

Seungwoo meets Seungyoun’s bright eyes with his most deadpan look. “No.”

“I’ll pay you for them.”

“I don’t want your money,” Seungwoo says, even as he reaches for the lemonade. He presses his lips together to prevent the smile that threatens to engulf him, but Seungyoun’s eyes are sharp and latch onto it faster than a fork of lightning.

He ducks his head to meet Seungwoo’s eyes with a grin of his own. “I think you do,” he says, his words curling with the sweet notes of a song. “I think you want my company too, Mr. Employee. I don’t blame you, it has been known to be great.”

“According to whom?”

“According to many sources. I have a CV in my bag if you want to look at it. I have to warn you though, the references are at least twenty pages long. They describe my personality as quote unquote ‘dazzling, mesmerising, nothing short of the most magnetic man in the Republic of Korea’. It’s quite a glowing recommendation.”

The laugh leaves Seungwoo’s tongue before he gives it permission. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. “That’ll be 8000 won by the way.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Employee! 8000 won and my charming personality coming right up!”

“It’d be a lot more charming if you stopped calling me that.”

When Seungyoun smiles again, it’s equal parts bashful and endearing. He drops the money into Seungwoo’s waiting hand and then props his elbows up on the counter, his palms a cradle for his face as he gazes at Seungwoo, honey dripping from his eyes. It’s enough to make a schoolgirl blush. Seungwoo is proud to declare he doesn’t although he can’t quite meet the intent stare either.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Seungyoun says. “I’m just really proud of you, Seungwoo hyung. I’m really happy for you.”

Though his soft gaze might not have made Seungwoo blush, his sincerity does summon a slight flush to his cheeks. Swallowing, Seungwoo pushes the other’s purchases back towards him and murmurs a faint thank you under his breath.

As the months have passed since his admission into hospital, Seungwoo has moved beyond his reluctance to open up to and listen to his therapist and has started to take his ‘homework’ seriously. One of the goals set was to start applying to jobs – any kind, so long as it gets him out of the flat and into active work.

In the end, Seungwoo managed to land himself night shifts in the 24 hour convenience store a couple of streets away from his apartment. It’s not a glamorous job and it’s a far cry away from the life he envisioned for himself, but it’s something. He has started to earn his keep and can break up the lacklustre monotony of his life by forcing something new into his routine, something that demands commitment. Though part of him is embarrassed by the fact that a job at the local convenience store is now a big deal for him, he can’t help but feel pleased with the way that Seungyoun is so obviously proud of him.

“Don’t talk so sappily,” is what he chooses to grumble instead. “I’m from Busan, I don’t do sappy.”

“Well, I’m from Seoul,” Seungyoun says cheerily, reaching over to hook his arms around Seungwoo’s neck and pull him into a hug. He takes no heed of the counter that digs into their torsos or the way Seungwoo’s breath catches in his throat. “So I’ll be as sappy as I want. Sappy and happy and proud and – “

“Dazzling, charming and magnetic?” Seungwoo suggests wryly.

He lets out a high shriek of laughter into his neck. “Yes! I knew you’d get it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re not hugging me back, so I guess we’re both a little off today.”

Seungwoo obediently links his hands around Seungyoun’s waist. “You’re always a little ridiculous.”

“Rude,” he gasps. He pulls back and taps the tip of Seungwoo’s nose with his index finger, the brief second of contact leaving his skin simmering with warmth. “Just for that, I should reconsider my plan to hang out with you all night. But because I’m a nice person, I’ll look past the endless insults and stay regardless.”

“You don’t need to stay,” Seungwoo starts, but the younger cuts him off firmly.

“I want to. You know how I am, I’m not going to fall asleep anytime soon anyways, so I might as well hang around. Get some lyrics down, eat some ramen, plan world domination. The usual.”

He untangles himself from Seungwoo’s grip, leaving him feeling oddly cold at the loss of contact, and gathers his purchases before heading over to the seating at the far end of the store. He chooses a seat where they can still see each other if they crane their necks a little – does so with one of his trademark derpy expressions to startle a laugh out of Seungwoo – and then settles in for the night.

Seungwoo watches him with the barest hint of a smile.

It’s been around ten years since the two of them first met. Back then, he never would’ve guessed that the loud frenzy of a boy from the apartment below would be his closest and oldest friend, or that this is where they would’ve ended up. In the typical pipe-dreaming manner of someone so young, he always assumed he’d be on top of the world by this point, thriving in whatever path he’d set his mind to. But here they are: a cashier in a convenience store who’s had his dreams snatched away from him and a brilliant, powerful performer prevented from shining due to things much bigger than him.

In an ideal world, they would never have ended up here – but if Seungwoo has to face these trials, he’s glad he at least has Seungyoun holding his hand through them.

Sometime during spring, Seungyoun buys a snake plant for his room. When Seungwoo comes over to visit, he is introduced to the plant with much fanfare, Seungyoun throwing in jazz hands as he dramatically unveils his new child. He introduces it using the name _Nahal_ which Naver says means ‘young plant’ and insists it will bring nothing but good to his life because snake plants supposedly help people sleep better and Seungyoun needs all the help he can get.

“In any case,” he says, lovingly stroking one of the leaves, “I love plants either way. We humans don’t deserve them.”

Later that day, Seungyoun says that he’s thinking of releasing his new music under the stage name ‘Woodz’; a reflection of the change in his mood and mental health, of the maturity and serenity he seeks to inspire in his music and achieve in his life. Seungwoo tells him that it’s a beautiful name and asks if he can hear the song Seungyoun’s been working on recently. To no one’s surprise, the other refuses. He’s never been one to share something he’s not completely and entirely proud of.

When _DIFFERENT_ is eventually released, Seungwoo listens to it in the safety of his bedroom, eyes closed, and the volume turned up high on his phone. He can see why Seungyoun sought a change in name now, why the moody yet oddly relaxing progression of the song has to be divorced from his previous soloist moniker of Luizy. Luizy is a relic from Seungyoun’s childhood, the confident teenager who moved halfway across the world to chase what was once his dreams; Woodz is the lost youth navigating the unexpectedly difficult realities of life.

After he listens to the song at least ten times over, Seungwoo texts the younger his congratulations. And when he watches Seungyoun’s Instagram live, cheek pressed against his pillow and heartstrings tugging at the bashful way Seungyoun fiddles with his rings as he explains the song, there is no ugly, rancid taste in the back of his mouth. No bitter jealousy scraping at the walls of his stomach until he feels nauseous at the sight of Seungyoun’s success.

He feels nothing but genuine pride and happiness.

He texts Seungyoun again: _you did well._

Later that month, VICTON release their first single album _Time of Sorrow._ The wistful, introspective song marks a shift in their sound, a sentimental and pensive melody that unravels over the synth beats in a mature fashion that catches the attention of the general public. _Time of Sorrow_ is quiet in its release, but by the end of the month, the song blows up and Seungwoo wakes up to find it scrabbling its way up the charts.

When VICTON get their first win on SBS MTV's “The Show”, Seungwoo lets out an honest to God yell of pride. He’s in the middle of scrambling for his phone to send off a string of congratulatory texts to the boys along with some good-natured teases at how Chan bursts into tears at the announcement, only to stop short when he sees Seungsik shakily bring the mic to his mouth as he reels off the various recipients of his gratitude.

“And I’d also like to thank someone very close to the hearts of our dear members,” Seungsik says as he blinks rapidly to fight back his tears. He keeps his eyes trained on the camera, fierce with determination. “Someone who was there for us throughout the long days of our training, who kept our spirits high even when his was threatening to crumble and who inspires us to keep fighting every day. Hyung, you know who you are. Thank you so much for – for everything. We wouldn’t be here without you.”

The phone slips from Seungwoo’s fingers.

He swallows, staring at the tv screen in mute shock. The technicolour scene seems so far away: the confetti drifting down onto the stage full of idols, the spindly arms of Byungchan as he blindly pulls Subin in for a hug, the blare of their song echoing throughout the studio. He watches Sejun wave at the crowd with misty eyes and when Seungwoo lifts a shaky hand to his cheeks, he finds them sticky with tears.

He reaches for his phone.

_Thank you._

_I don’t deserve it. But thank you._

That night, Seungwoo buys a new notebook at work. The cover is a non-descript navy blue plastic and the pages are divided with faint lines. He presses black ink to paper and carefully writes his name in neat Hangul. Underneath that, he prints the word ‘ _SONGBOOK’._

There are two scars running across Seungwoo’s wrists, a sharp and ugly reminder of how deeply he spiralled the previous summer. He tends to cover them up with long-sleeved tops in the warmer months, hoodies and jumpers when the chill permits him to, and only ever really lets them see the light of day under the safety blanket of his showers.

But sometimes when he’s half-asleep in his bed next to Seungyoun, their shoulders pressed against each other and their ankles locked together, he feels a thumb brush across the raised skin there. Skimming back and forth in a gesture that probably shouldn’t feel so comforting but does, simply because it’s Seungyoun doing it. He never opens his eyes in the moments he’s aware of it, though he could if he tried hard enough. Doesn’t ask Seungyoun what he’s doing either because he already knows why.

He just carries on falling asleep.

Seungyoun’s wrists don’t bear scars, though there is a tattoo on one of them. Though his body is riddled with them, the small addition to his wrist catches Seungwoo’s attention frequently, the red of the teary face and the sunflower yellow of the smiley face like two children’s stickers permanently pasted to the pale skin. One day, he presses a thumb to them and asks idly what they mean since Seungyoun is not the type of person who brands himself with something meaningless.

The younger shrugs and affects a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “My mood fluctuates a lot. When I’m sad, I tend to think a lot. When I’m happy, I feel on top of the world. This tattoo captures the two extreme sides of my personality.”

Seungwoo rolls his head onto Seungyoun’s shoulder, his fingers moving to loosely circle around his wrist. “So like… wearing your emotions on your sleeve?”

He snorts. “Yes. Exactly that. Funny how I didn’t make the connection before.”

He gets the feeling that there’s more to the story, but doesn’t press any further, wary of backing Seungyoun into a corner he doesn’t feel comfortable in.

Their chatter soon slips into another vein of conversation, discussing Seungwoo’s efforts to write song lyrics. He’s settled into it like a duck takes to water, his pen flying across the pages whenever inspiration strikes – his therapist believes the creative outlet is a helpful coping mechanism for him – although he’s not sure whether he’s struck gold with anything on them. Seungyoun offers to create some beats for Seungwoo to tailor them to, but he gently refuses for now. He wants to start off slow and get used to creating melodies before he thinks about the wider picture.

He’s not like Seungyoun in that respect. The younger is always aware of what story he wants to tell – how the instrumental will rise and fall with the cadence of his lyrics, how the vocals will croon over the guitar strings and the bass will rumble quietly underneath the steady pace of the song. He approaches producing with the air of someone who knows exactly what goes where. Whereas Seungwoo is much more single-minded in his direction, focusing only on the raw emotions of what crashes around inside his head and how to express that in words.

“One day,” Seungyoun promises, “when you’re ready, we’ll release a song together. One that we’ve worked on together. Okay, hyung?”

Seungwoo squeezes his wrist. “Okay.”

In the meantime, it’ll just be Seungyoun releasing music into the daunting landscape of Korea’s music scene. For someone who’s had his idol career on hold for three years, he’s doing somewhat well for himself. Seungwoo supposes it’s inevitable; Seungyoun is talented and good-looking as well as popular among industry insiders who only want to see their friend succeed. He has connections pouring out of his ears – everywhere from the underground scene to the biggest hip hop labels to well-known idols from the top groups in the industry. With online magazines taking an interest in him too, he’s sure it’ll be no time before Seungyoun really blows up.

It’s due to one such magazine that Seungwoo learns the truth.

One night, he’s yawning his way through his shift at the convenience store, taking advantage of the lack of customers to read Seungyoun’s interview with Status Magazine. What starts off as a pleasant read soon has his heart stutter to a stop. Seungwoo freezes, staring at the words on the screen of his phone in what can only be described as numb shock.

 _‘I used notes I wrote down…_ ’

Seungwoo hasn’t had a chance to listen to his friend’s latest release yet. He’s been so swept up in extra shifts at work, scribbling lyrics into his notebook and trying to align his schedule with the Plan A boys to sit down and properly give the attention the song deserves. But as he reads and rereads Seungyoun’s words with mounting horror, he scrambles frantically for his earphones, taking no heed of whether any customers have entered the store, and jabs it into the earphone jack. His hands tremble as he loads _meaningless_ on his playlist.

The song is haunting.

He listens to the low murmurs of Seungyoun’s voice over the gloomy R&B instrumental backing as he whispers about his lack of purpose and direction. The defeat in his thoughts swells into a plea when he despairs about his desires and fears and how he doesn’t know what he’s living for anymore, voice high and sweet. Tears fall from Seungwoo’s eyes, unbidden, and he scrubs them away before someone can come in and find him sobbing over the till.

As soon as his shift draws to an end, he heads straight to Seungyoun’s apartment and hammers on the door. His fist is too loud against the wood for this hour, too frantic and frenzied, but he can’t bring himself to care, only calls Seungyoun’s name more and more desperately until the door flies open under his touch and he meets the younger’s panicked eyes.

“What’s – what’s up?” Seungyoun asks, blinking rapidly.

His hands hover Seungwoo’s torso as he quickly scans him as if looking for any signs of injury, any sign of what could be wrong. The back of his hair is all ruffled like he was actually asleep for once and Seungwoo should probably feel bad about waking him up, but all he can think about is that interview and his song and how he nearly lost Seungyoun without ever even realising it. And the thought of that, the thought of not having him as a perpetual presence in his life, has him burst into tears again. Seungyoun only looks all the more horrified at this.

“Seungwoo hyung,” he says, shocked. He pulls him into a hug without hesitation, tucking Seungwoo’s head into the junction between his jaw and shoulder and running his hands through his hair. “Hyung, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“You didn’t – you didn’t tell me,” Seungwoo chokes out.

“Tell you?” He sounds confused.

“About the – about the _notes_. About what you were going through! I – I saw the interview, w-what you told the magazine about your song, I – “

He feels Seungyoun freeze in his arms. After a moment, the other continues to stroke his hair, pulling him even closer despite the tension running through his body. Too distraught to do anything but greedily accept the embrace – to confirm that Seungyoun is still _here_ , is with him, a solid figure that lives and breathes and exists – Seungwoo can only hold onto him even tighter. His tears continue to fall in earnest, wetting the column of Seungyoun’s neck.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” he whispers in his ear. “I should’ve told you earlier. I’m sorry.”

Seungwoo hiccups as his breathing staggers off-beat. “Why didn’t you? I would’ve helped. I would’ve been there for you.”

When he speaks, Seungyoun’s voice is small. “You were already going through so much,” he says sadly. “You had your own demons to fight. How could I expect you to help me fight mine? I know you would’ve done it without thinking twice about it and I couldn’t be that selfish.”

The words send a spark of anger raging through him. Seungwoo pulls back to glare hotly at the other.

“Don’t be so stupid,” he says fiercely. “You can’t just – you can’t just decide that I can’t be there for you when _you_ were the one going out of your way to help _me_ – “

“’Going out of my way?’ You’re my best friend, of course I was going to – “

“And you’re mine!” Seungwoo snaps. He softens his gaze, sagging against Seungyoun’s chest to repeat in a murmur, “You’re mine. And I can’t… I don’t know what I’d ever do without you here. Even if I was at my lowest, even if I was broken and fucked up and hadn’t seen sunlight in three weeks, I would’ve happily been there for you when you needed me. Just like you were there for me when I needed you. It’s a two-way street, Seungyounnie, you can’t just expect me to take everything you have while you suffer in silence. It’s not right.”

Seungyoun looks back at him with wide, unreadable eyes. A strange smile ghosts around the edges of his mouth and he says gently, “You didn’t see yourself, hyung.”

“I don’t care. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

He says the words easily, as though they are nothing but the truth. As if he hasn’t just released a song that explores how close he came to rendering them obsolete, as if he hasn’t hidden his condition from the world with his blinding smiles and goofy dances and the constellations that twinkle in the dark pools of his eyes.

But there’s a resolve there that reminds Seungwoo of himself last summer, sitting in his bedroom with bandages wrapped around his wrists and his best friend barely holding himself together at the foot of his bed. Reminds him of how Seungwoo’s heart broke at the fragile frame of someone he had only ever known as unbreakable, brought to this state by his own thoughtless actions, and how he vowed that this would never happen again.

Unthinkingly, Seungwoo reaches up to press his hands on either side of Seungyoun’s face. He gathers all the complex tangle of emotions brewing in his stomach and pours them into the gaze he unleashes upon the younger.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispers.

Seungyoun stares back at him. “I won’t,” he murmurs. “I won’t.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he realises he’s in love with Seungyoun. Perhaps it should. Or perhaps he should, at the very least, panic when the truth of his feelings dawns on him since Seungyoun is his best friend and their friendship is not something to be jeopardised with something as uncertain as a romantic relationship. While that is true, Seungwoo doesn’t immediately descend into a vat of worry, fretting about how to deal with the difficulties that come with such unrequited feelings.

He just… gets it.

It makes sense for him to fall in love with Seungyoun. Their lives have been entwined for so long that he can scarcely separate where one begins and the other ends, cannot comprehend a world where the two aren’t constantly in each other’s company. Eroding each other’s edges, shaping who the other person grows into and becomes, helping one another navigate the hurdles that life throws in their way. For the past ten years, he’s known Seungyoun in so many different ways: in the unadulterated joy he displays so readily, in the quietly festering worries about their futures on the stage, in the battered football they used to kick around in the street, and over thousands of miles of countries and oceans and telephone wires. Really, who else _would_ he fall in love with?

So that day when he realises that he’s in love with Seungyoun, he doesn’t freak out. He just smiles softly, watching Seungyoun frown at his reflection in his phone and rub impatiently at the spot growing on his cheek. The soft light from the sinking sun kisses his features lovingly and he has never looked so beautiful. And Seungwoo understands why he’s in love.

“You shouldn’t rub it so hard,” he chides. Seungyoun looks up at him, lips pushed into an upset pout. “You might make it bleed and leave a mark.”

Seungyoun reluctantly lowers his hand and sighs, “I hate this.”

“Ah, don’t worry, Seungyounnie,” he says teasingly, reaching over to pinch his cheek. The other doesn’t bother to fight him off, just sits there and continues to sulk. “You’re still pretty.”

“I have the equivalent of Hanla Mountain on my face.”

“It’s a nice mountain.”

Seungyoun scowls at him and finally bats his hand away. “Don’t try to cheer me up about this. I’ve already accepted my fate.”

“You are _so_ dramatic,” Seungwoo says with a roll of his eyes and returns to his bibimbap.

He doesn’t panic about his realisation, but he doesn’t act on his feelings either. It’s not quite the same situation as the one with Seungsik from years past – that was about seeking comfort in an industry that seemed to offer so little of it, about the validation that being desired by someone can bring – but it’s similar in the sense that the best thing to do is to contain it. Contain his feelings so that no one else is aware of what’s going on behind closed doors. Not even Seungyoun himself.

Seungwoo is content to keep the true depth of his affection to himself. His only confidante is the songbook he keeps on his person at all times, the pages increasingly hosting the fanciful and romantic thoughts that spill from his hands and mouth. Long gone are the visceral, tortured expressions of his lowest moments in life; they are left in the wake of love songs that Seungwoo can’t help but pen as much as it embarrasses him to admit it.

He thinks he’ll be happy to keep this to himself for the rest of his life. Even when they grow older and Seungyoun inevitably falls in love with someone else, even when he’s busy building a separate life and a home for himself, Seungwoo will be okay just loving him from a distance. Nothing about their friendship is lacking. Just this is enough.

“What do you think?” Seungyoun says a few weeks after Seungwoo’s realisation, calling for his attention. He sits on top of his kitchen counter, head angled to show off the braid he’s clumsily twisted part of his hair into while he waits for Seungwoo to finish cooking their dinner. “Pretty, right?”

“It looks like a five year old did it, but yes, it’s very pretty.”

Seungyoun turns his head back with a beam. “Thought so. You think I could start a new trend with this one? Mullets out, braids in?”

“You could always try,” Seungwoo says with a little laugh. “Get someone from BTS to follow your lead and you might just make it work.”

“Well, I suppose I could use Yugyeom to convert Jungkook to my cause…”

Seungwoo smiles at the genuine consideration Seungyoun gives to the idea and then taps his thigh, gesturing for him to pass the black pepper over. He sprinkles it into the pan, humming quietly to himself. Seungyoun watches him, head cocked to the side as he soaks in the melody. He tries not to feel too self-conscious about it, painfully aware of how his skills have degraded in the time since he stopped training.

When Seungyoun hops off the counter, his voice falters. The younger comes to stand behind him, hands sliding around his waist to interlock over his stomach, his cheek pressed against the flat of Seungwoo’s shoulder.

“You have a pretty voice, hyung,” he says quietly.

A red flush spreads across Seungwoo’s cheeks like a drop of red paint in water. He coughs as if that’ll clear it away. “Uh. Thanks. You too.”

“I could listen to you sing all day,” he continues. “Such a pretty, pretty voice.”

His voice is too sweet, too tender. It stirs the butterflies that slumber in Seungwoo’s stomach, making them flutter around from the warmth of Seungyoun’s hold. It’s a wonder Seungyoun can’t feel their murmuring under his palms. He shifts slightly.

“Ah, don’t say things like that,” he says, aiming for a playful tone but falling a little short. He plunges on as if he doesn’t notice the almost imperceptible tremble in his voice. “You’ll inflate my head soon enough.”

“So what? You deserve all the compliments in the world. I don’t care if I have to help you hold your big, fat head up as long as you hear the truth.”

It takes a moment for his phrasing to sink in, but the two of them burst into laughter when it does. The kind of delirious laughter that is more than the situation warrants, though neither of them get the memo. Seungyoun’s breaths are hot against Seungwoo’s skin as he collapses into him, cute giggles falling right into his ear. When he finally gets a hold of himself, he presses his lingering smile into Seungwoo’s t-shirt. Seungwoo directs his own at the stove.

“Hyung,” he says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Seungwoo stirs the chicken in the pan, humming, “Yes?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Long enough for Seungwoo’s forehead to pinch with a frown and for him to crane his neck to try to look at Seungyoun’s face. Noticing this, the younger pulls back slightly to press his forehead against Seungwoo’s shoulder blade, hiding his expression from view.

“Hey, what’s up with – “

“I’m in love with you,” Seungyoun blurts out.

His voice dies in his throat.

Seungyoun continues in a hoarse whisper, “I think I have been for a while now. And I know I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but sometimes I look at you and I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t hold your hand or hug you or say something and I just – I’m in love with you. You mean the world to me and I’m in love with you.”

He can barely remember how to breathe. Coming to terms with his _own_ feelings was effortless, as thoughtless as drawing in a breath. But nowhere within that acceptance did he consider the possibility that his feelings might be requited.

Which, now that he thinks about it, is a little stupid of him. If Seungyoun’s been this vital and irreplaceable in _his_ life, it follows to reason that there is a chance Seungwoo would be regarded the same way for the other.

He must’ve been quiet for too long because Seungyoun mutters an ashamed, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” and starts to unravel himself from Seungwoo.

Panicking, Seungwoo whips around and stops him from moving any further by grabbing his face with both hands. He frames his face too firmly for it to be considered romantic – Seungyoun’s cheeks are a little too squished under his palms, cat eyes blown wide as he gapes up at the older – but Seungwoo’s heart races all the same. In his opinion, Seungyoun has never looked lovelier than in this moment. He drinks him in intently, studying the planes of his face to preserve in his memory.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I was just caught off-guard.”

“Understandable,” Seungyoun says and his lips purse comically due to Seungwoo’s hold. Breathing out a soft laugh, he pulls back some of his strength until his fingers are just about brushing Seungyoun’s face. “I did just drop a bombshell on you.”

He adds a shrug as if it’s no big deal, trying to seem unaffected. Seungwoo recognises the behaviour for the damage control it is and responds by leaning forward so that his forehead touches the other’s, eyes never breaking away from Seungyoun’s. One hand slips around to cradle the back of his head and fix him in place.

Seungyoun squeaks.

“I’m in love with you,” Seungwoo admits matter-of-factly. He smiles when that results in another squeak. “I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to be in love with someone other than you. You’ve known me when I was at my worst and encourage me to strive to be my best. There were times when you were the only thing that kept me going. But even if none of that had happened, even if we lived in a world where we were in a different place than this and I wasn’t – I wasn’t like this, I think I would’ve fallen in love with you still. You’re kind of impossible not to fall in love with.”

As he speaks, tears well in Seungyoun’s eyes. They slide down his flushed cheeks and he swipes them away with an impatient huff. Knowing better than to tease him about them, Seungwoo simply rubs his thumb across the path of Seungyoun’s cheekbones to wipe away the remaining tear tracks.

“I’m sorry,” Seungyoun mutters, blushing an even prettier shade of pink. “I’m just – I thought you said Busan men don’t do sappy. Why did you have to go and hit me with something like that, eh? You know I get easily emotional.”

He shrugs. “Guess this situation’s an exception. Which explains why I keep writing all these cheesy love songs, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.”

Seungyoun pushes half-heartedly at his chest as if embarrassed, but there’s a pleased quirk to his lips that speaks the truth. He _likes_ knowing he can drive Seungwoo to this, can reduce him to a sappy love-song-writing fool. He leaves his hand to rest on Seungwoo’s chest, pressing down to count the beats of his heart. It works at a telling rhythm, fluttering at the quick pace of someone enchanted.

“You’re in love with me,” he says quietly.

Seungwoo nods. “ _You’re_ in love with me.”

He confirms this with a nod of his own. “You know this means you can’t leave me, right?” he says. The glint in his eyes is intense and determined, the look of a man who has nearly lost everything and refuses to experience that ever again. “And I’m not going to leave you either. We’re in this shit together, okay? You and me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

“Good.”

When their lips finally meet, it’s electric.

Energy thrums through Seungwoo’s body, crackling down his spine and sinking deep underneath the layers of his skin, filling him with an indescribable warmth. It’s as if his entire body is singing. He hums against the seam of Seungyoun’s mouth and the other shudders at the noise, melting into him even more. He runs his hands through Seungyoun’s hair, fingers catching in the little braid before finally finding purchase in the strands and tugging ever so slightly as he gently bites into his lower lip. Seungyoun responds with a pretty little noise that has him shivering.

“I love you.” Seungwoo pulls back to whisper against his mouth. “I love you.”

He presses forward once more, and it feels a lot like coming home.

Soft pink streaks span the sky, fading into the pale blue like someone has grabbed a paintbrush and gently swept it across the canvas. The painter has added the misty white of the clouds sparingly, faint suggestions that intermingle with the pastels kissing each other above Seoul. The horizon is rarely this lovely and Seungwoo can’t help but agree with Seungyoun’s loud gasps of awe as the beauty strikes them.

“It’s so pretty!” his boyfriend exclaims wondrously, straightening up in the passenger seat to get a better look through the windshield.

When Seungwoo glances at him, the stars that aren’t yet ready to come out glimmer in Seungyoun’s smiling eyes. He looks so taken by the sublime, so ready to admire the universe and all its wonders that Seungwoo is helpless against the lovestruck smile that springs to his mouth. Remembering the phone that’s propped up on top of the dashboard, however, he tries to school his expression into something less obvious.

“Everyone,” Seungyoun says, directing his words to the Instagram live that he’s currently hosting. “If you’re in Seoul at the moment, you _need_ to look outside _right now_. The sky is so pretty, I’m going to cry.”

Seungwoo snorts slightly. “Cry baby,” he teases.

Glaring, Seungyoun rebukes him with a light smack to his upper arm. “Please ignore my best friend. He just doesn’t know how to appreciate how beautiful nature can be.”

“I’m from Busan. I was appreciating nature before you were even born.”

“You should appreciate the act of shutting up.”

“Yah!” Seungwoo protests, hitting the indicator harder than he should in his indignation. His eyes distractedly swivel from mirror to mirror as he prepares to take the next right turn. “Respect your hyung.”

“Or what?”

“Or you can walk yourself home from the gym.”

Even though they both know he’s just teasing, Seungyoun immediately shrieks in panic and throws out an apology, one hand coming to tug pleadingly on his elbow. Seungwoo makes a show of taking the apology into consideration so the younger tries to entice him into accepting it with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, pulling his head down low. In the corner of his eye, Seungwoo sees him contort his face into an unfortunate-looking expression and lets out a startled laugh.

“I suppose I can drive you around,” he relents with a dramatic sigh.

Satisfied, Seungyoun leans back with a grin. He faces the phone again and tells his fans, “Seungwoo hyung and I have decided to become gym buddies recently. You might not believe me, but hyung used to be _buff_ once upon a time. No joke, you could wash your clothes on his abs.”

“Stop exaggerating.”

“I’m not exaggerating! You were rock solid, and you know it! Look, you’re not even _denying it_.”

Seungwoo bites his bottom lip to hide his amused smile. Thankfully, Seungyoun seems to miss it because he continues to chat to the camera, talking about what sort of exercises he likes doing in the gym and laughing off the requests from his fans to show his own abs.

Nothing from his constant stream of chatter reveals that the real reason they’ve become gym buddies is because Seungwoo and his therapist have agreed that it’s time for him to pick up more of his old hobbies again, particularly ones that are sure to have a positive impact on him. Exercising releases endorphins, after all, and Seungwoo could always do with some more of those. This time around, he’s decided to invest in a personal trainer too so that he can exercise without straining his knees and hurting himself.

“I’ve been getting in shape for my new music video,” Seungyoun is saying when he tunes back in. “We’re going to be filming it very soon and I want to show the best side of me for my fans. Ahh, you’d watch it even if I had a beer belly?” He laughs. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I’m in a rush to get one anytime soon.”

“I don’t know, I think it’d suit you,” Seungwoo jokes.

With a laugh, Seungyoun gently smacks his arm in reprimand again. “Don’t encourage them. Maybe _you_ should have the beer belly if you think the video needs one.”

“Fine by me. I like my soju.”

He rolls his eyes. “Can you believe this hyung?” Seungyoun leans forward, squinting at the comments. “Yes, Seungwoo hyung is going to be in my music video. Actually… I was going to leave it as a surprise, but…“ He turns to seek Seungwoo’s approval before admitting, “Seungwoo hyung is actually singing in this song with me. Surprise! It’s a duet! We both worked really hard on it so please show both it and hyung a lot of love when we release it.”

Licking his lips nervously, Seungwoo nods in agreement. “I hope you like it,” he says softly.

“They will. You’re amazing in it, how could they not?”

Truthfully, the thought of releasing this song with Seungyoun has him feeling all shades of nervous. It’s been so long since he left Plan A Entertainment, even longer since he first realised his dream of becoming a musician. He’s scared that his vocals still aren’t up to scratch like they were when he was training them repeatedly day after day, that people will find the song and absolutely hate his feature on it. He’s terrified that they will release the music video and fans will question what on earth possessed Seungyoun to work with someone like him.

What if it’s not good enough?

What if _he’s_ not good enough?

When he’s struggling to fall asleep after work, these kinds of thoughts plague his mind, haunting him from the shadows. No longer is he the boy who hungered for debut, never concerned that he wouldn’t be good enough, only scared that he would never get the chance to prove himself. Nowadays, his doubts linger on his competency, on whether he’s worthy of the opportunity he’s been presented with. They drip with poison, the venom trying to eat away at his confidence with an insidious determination, suffocating him before he can even take the first step.

Seungwoo refuses to let them win.

He can’t do much to stop the thoughts from creeping in, but he can control what he does in response to them. He can choose to listen to Seungyoun’s gentle encouragements, can trust in his own passion and perseverance, can treat the years he’s spent fighting for this opportunity with the respect they deserve. He can wrench his eyes open to the darkness of his bedroom, stare his demons dead in the eye and tell them _no._

“Okay,” Seungwoo murmurs out loud. Seungyoun has already moved onto a different topic but he pauses to look inquisitively at him, hands freezing in the middle of his gesturing. He repeats a little louder, “Okay. I think our song will do well. I think people will like it.”

If he was obvious with his smitten expression before, Seungyoun might as well be waving a sign declaring his undying love for Seungwoo with the way he practically melts at his words. His eyes are as warm as honey, gazing at him like he’s as lovely as the sunset outside, and his smile is devastating. He doesn’t reach over to hold Seungwoo’s hand or move to press a kiss to his cheek, though he might as well be.

Too content to care about how it might be interpreted, Seungwoo smiles back.

Everything will be okay, he thinks. No matter what happens, they will be okay. A couple of years ago, he didn’t believe in that, didn’t think that he could move on from the broken shell of the man he found himself to be. But he knows better now.

He knows that this is enough.

_WATCH NOW: FILL IN MY COLOURS – WOODZ FT. HAN SEUNGWOO_

**Author's Note:**

> [[twitter](https://twitter.com/thotforcsy)] | [[cc](https://curiouscat.me/jjasmine)]
> 
> and that's the end of it! i promised it was going to be a happy ending, didn't i? seungwoo's still working things out with himself, but he's in a much better place by the end of it (seungwooni bbe i am so sorry for putting you through this) and ryeonseung make me soft afff.
> 
> tidbits:  
> \- the interview sw refers to is [this one](https://statusmagonline.com/features/k-rb-artist-woodz-opens-up-about-mental-health-and-developing-his-identity-as-a-soloist/) where seungyoun admits that meaningless includes some of his suicide notes :((  
> \- the title of the fic and of their collab is a lyric from [pool](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmM7UwdMoSg) by woodz ft. sumin (which is why he didn't release it in this fic)  
> \- [list of suicide hotlines from around the world](https://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines)  
> \- more tidbits and little Fun Factz [here](https://twitter.com/thotforcsy/status/1207367510435278851) probably


End file.
